Dare You To Love Me

«25» ghost of us

Fou’ad sat hunched over the kitchen island, his head buried in the palm of his hands.

Memories of the past hours pressed down on him, a relentless weight that seemed to crush his very soul, the silence in the room mirroring the emptiness he felt.

Yaseerah’s tear-streaked face, the pain he had inflicted upon her, and the fear in her eyes were images he knew would haunt him forever.

The warmth that once filled their shared moments had turned to an icy void, each beat of his heart echoing the shame and guilt that now consumed him.

He had envisioned them rejoicing in their newfound union, basking in the glow of marital bliss. Yet, his impulsive actions had turned what was supposed to be a joyous occasion into something tragic.

His eyes were heavy with unshed tears, and Fou’ad could almost feel the warmth of Yaseerah’s love slipping through his fingers, their connection forever damaged by his mistakes.

The realization of how close he had come to physically harming the woman he loved sent waves of nausea through him, making him hunch over, as the tears he tried to hold back started to fall, hot and heavy.

The kitchen walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him with the consequences of his unchecked anger.

A sob escaped him, and he pressed his fist against his lips to stifle the sound, his shoulders shaking due to the intensity of his sobs.

Fou’ad had no idea how he was going to begin seeking for her forgiveness, or fixing the broken trust between them.

Everything seemed so bleak in that moment, until he heard her soft footfalls approaching the kitchen.

Hope blossomed, fragile and tender, across the expanse of his heart while he stayed hunched, his gaze fixed on the doorway, as waited with bated breath for her appearance.

She hadn’t noticed him, and he took advantage of the moment to appraise her. Like him, she was still dressed in her wedding attire.

Even through the dim lights, Fou’ad could see that she had been crying, and it broke something in him.

“Yaseerah.”

At the sound of his voice, Yaseerah’s body tensed, a palpable reaction that fractured another piece of his heart.

Her eyes remained fixed on her feet, avoiding his gaze, as she hesitated at the kitchen’s entrance.

“Yaseerah,” he called out again, his voice breaking. “Please.”

Fou’ad had no idea what he was pleading for, all he knew was that he needed her, needed something from her. He didn’t hope for forgiveness so soon, but he hoped for something, anything to lessen the burning in his chest.

“Please look at me, Yaseerah.” As Fou’ad rose to his feet, a silent plea in his eyes, her subtle flinch–another physical manifestation of the growing chasm between them–shattered another piece of his heart.

“Yaseerah—”

“Please, don’t.” Her voice was soft, too soft, as she raised red-rimmed eyes to stare at him. Her eyes more amber than gold tonight, the lively flecks of brown now dulled and glossed over with unshed tears.

Her heart wavered between love and betrayal as she stared at her husband, the tenderness and remorse in his eyes tugging at the edges of her anger, but the sting of his actions couldn’t take it away completely.

“Allah is my witness, I never meant to hurt you,” he confessed, his voice laced with remorse and longing. “Please tell me if you don’t believe anything, you believe that at least.”